


Ends and means

by finlyfoe



Category: Homeland
Genre: Anger, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, Regret, Way Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:44:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7361983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finlyfoe/pseuds/finlyfoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guy to push the button curses his luck and the service schedule. The battle has begun: Station chief versus chief of support, and he is caught right in the middle...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ends and means

**Author's Note:**

> a prompt fill to # 5: "what if Carrie had taken Saul out with that drone in 4.06"?
> 
> Dedicated to Frangipani and the sixth sense

The guy to push the button curses his luck and the service schedule. Why not Randy, Fisher or Sutton? Why him? Caught between Scylla and Charybdis, the pan and the open fire. One of the worst days ever to be on duty in the ops room at CIA station Islamabad. The battle has begun: Station chief versus chief of support, and he, the guy to push the button - or not -  is caught right in the middle.

“Take the shot - take the shot!“ -  
“Carrie!” -  
“we are losing our window!” -  
“ it’s Saul!” -  
“Take the shot! Take the shot, God dammit! Wipe that fucker out!”  
“It’s Saul. It’s the once director of the C.I.A.  - do not shoot!”

Great, just great. - The guy raises his hands, signaling: You sort it out.

It’s about shooting a top terrorist high up on the kill list and about collateral damage. The missile will not only take out Haqquani, target of the operation, but also Saul Berenson,  held hostage as Haqqani’s living shield. As they speak they see Berenson’s face on the monitor, blinking and staring right into the camera, utterly defeated.

“Take the shot goddammit what did I say!”  
“Carrie, are you out of your fucking mind? That is Saul down there-”

The interfering chief of support is not even supposed to be here. Only dropped in to deliver the message Saul never left Pakistan. Well they all know by now don’t they.

“Take the shot or I’ll have you court-martialed!“, Mathison yells, eyes all wild, chin quivering, clearly about to freak out.

So he pushes the button.

They all see onscreen how Haqqani, his guards, the body of Aayan, a boy murdered moments ago by his uncle with them watching in horror, the three vehicles, how all of it is blown to smithereens, into nothingness.

So is Saul Berenson.

Ghostly silence in the control room. No comments. No congrats. No cheering. No whatever. They hardly dare to breathe, the aftermath of what they just have witnessed poisoning the atmosphere.

Peter Quinn, tall and upright, stares at the screen, his face turned to stone, arms crossed in front of his chest, his lips pressed to a line hardly visible.

Mathison exhales, hand stroking back her hair. “We got the fucker. We got the goddamn fucker. Good job.” She nods, pulls herself up and heads for the door. Then turns around, shoots an angry glance at Quinn and hisses: “Don’t you ever again dare fuck with me like this.”

“I won’t”, he answers under his breath, so low she might not even have heard it. As soon as she has disappeared, he leaves the room without a word.  

A collective sigh runs through the ops room.

It is 5:20 pm Eastern Standard Time.

***

He has seen her at her worst, back at the psychiatric ward. He had no idea… This woman will go far. She will be a raging success. She is a monster - who is he to judge!…  Dar was right - he has to stay away from her.  She will take him down. He can take a lot but not this Carrie. Not this Carrie.

  
At 5:22 EST Peter Quinn texts to the ambassador, Martha Boyd, and to the director of the C.I.A., Andrew Lockhart, cc: Carrie Mathison. A request to be transferred asap. For the time being it is of minor priority and doesn’t get noticed. All three are still engaged in a satellite conference. They have to figure out how to sell what happened.

After briefing the president, Lockhart announces the attack will be kept highly classified.. Officially Haqqani was dead before so no need to bring up the issue and risk more protests, more burned flags, more harassment by the press.  The situation was just about to calm down after that wedding attack debacle.

Which leaves the issue of Saul’s death and no body to retrieve. Lockhart will inform the next of kin, which is the wife, now widow, Mira. The cover story will be a suicide bombing. Mira already knows he never made the plane and half expects terrible news.

Of course the former director deserves an adequate service, a speech from someone high up the rank, a star on the wall. The usual stuff but a bit more to it. A state funeral would stir the press so it is out of the question.  The ceremony will be soon and quiet so they have a headstart on any snooping journalist. Lockhart recalls something about Jewish rites and burying the body within one week which serves them well as a layout.

***

At 6:35 EST Martha Boyd calls Peter Quinn to her office. “No”, she says, “absolutely no”, red-rimmed eyes but her demeanor as resolute as ever. “We - I need you here. I will not let you go. Oh and sit down, don’t keep standing there like a soldier at mustering, hands behind your back.”

Quinn sits down, at the very edge of the seat.

“Redmond told my there was a - heated discussion in the ops room…”    
“There was.”  
“You contradicted the station chief, is that correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“But Peter, heated discussions are part of how we find solutions and make decision.”

“I am aware. But… the station chief made a decision which I challenged in front of half the staff. Which is unacceptable.”

Martha looks at him. “Do you still question her judgement?”

He avoids her eyes, looks at his hands instead. His tone is neutral. “Her decision was in accordance with our set of behavior. It was a logical and strategically adequate decision, so it was appropriate. She can’t allow her chief of support undermining her position. As the term says, she needs support which I refused.”

“That’s what she said? She was very intent on having you back here. Very intent.”

Silence.

“I don’t want you transferred, Peter. Go and figure this out.”

Quinn doesn’t reply. What else can he say without being illoyal. Even if he is burning with anger and disappointment, he can’t slander his superior. He was brought up in a system heavily relying on the chain of command. It is in his mind, his beliefs, his subconsciousness. Not to mention it is Carrie. Which complicates everything.

“I mean it”, the ambassador adds.

“So do I”, Peter Quinn answers and gets up to leave.

“One more thing”, the ambassador calls him back.  
Of course she knows what it was all about. She wanted to hear his version, but she accepts his discretion. Saul. Saul whom she nearly ran away with, so long ago. Carrie, his golden girl, his protégé, sure learned a lot. Maybe too much.

“Peter, we have just taken out Haqqani… things now might start to get back to normal. I need you in this. More than I need Ms. Mathison. Do you get me? “

For a second, their eyes lock. Then Peter looks away.

***

Peter leaves the ambassador’s office at 6.55 EST. He stops for a smoke, then goes back to his quarters.

At 6:58 EST the ambassador makes another call to Andrew Lockhart.

“Peter Quinn is a most reliable, agreeable part of my staff, he has been with us for a considerable length of time, I repeat, I do not want to lose him. There seems to be a fraction between station chief and chief of support. Peter Quinn takes the blame and wants to get out of her way. I have no personal quarrel with Ms. Mathison but if I have to choose between the two I would rather have a new station chief.”

Lockhart sighs. Fucking Mathison. All blackmail and trouble.   “That’s out of the question. If your chief of support can’t handle a bossy woman boss, tell him to take it like a man. It’s the new normal.”

“Mr Lockhart, Mr. Quinn has no trouble whatsoever with me as his bossy woman boss. As I said, I suggest you transfer Mathison!”

“Ah, the famous female loyalty…”

The ambassador hangs up.

 

***

At 7:05 EST, Carrie reads Quinn’s text. She kicks her fridge in anger. Hell, what’s the fridge got to do with it? She’d better go and kick his coward ass!

So at 7:07 EST she pounds her fist against his door. It takes some more of her attacks and loud swearwords until the door is opened. “Fuck you, are you deaf!” she snarls.

“Also good evening to you”, he says, annoyingly unemotional and detached and keeps standing in the door. “What do you want, Carrie?”

She strides past him, pushing him out of her way. He lets her, closes the door, folds his arms again, scowling.

“What do you want?”

“So you are pissing off? Because I shouted at you poor thing? I was fucking right, what do think this is, the mutiny of the Bounty? You playing the Mel Gibson part?”

“Fletcher Christian.”

“What?”

“It’s Fletcher Christian. And Cpt. Bligh. But no, I am not, because if I was, you’d have to leave the ship, remember?”

Fuck, he can’t believe it. This is the day she killed Saul, her Agency father, the only person she seemed to care about, and they are discussing outdated films?! Obviously he was wrong. She didn’t give a shit about Saul as long as she could get revenge for her toy boy. She is so fucked up. Sometimes, he gets all she feels and tries, but not today… No that is a lie, he gets it, he just can’t believe the choices she’s made. She is so fucking dumb, so smart and yet so dumb… Fuck, she’s bipolar, maybe that’s why she needs to bring herself down over and over again.  

“Oh right, so you are the rat leaving the sinking ship?”

“Thanks for the comparison. Rats are fucking survivors and you know what - you are not, Carrie. You’re so fucking self-destructive I don’t even know how you survived that far.”

“We are not here to discuss _me_ , Quinn, this is about you and your unprofessional attitude!” She stands right in front of him, on her toes, so she can look right into his eyes. Little angry sparks run over her face. Quinn’s jaw is tense, but his eyes still give her that “fuck you”-look she really hates. Really really hates. She wants to slap him to take away that arrogance and she tries but he saw it coming, of course he did, and catches her hand just in time. His grip is hard, painful, she wrings to free herself but he doesn’t release her.

“So what now?” he goes, head bowed so they are face to face, eye to eye, an inch left in between.

He should have expected. She’s always in for a surprise. She moves forward and puts a kiss on his lips. Open mouthed. Very open mouthed.

_Fuck. Manipulative bitch. I am not one of your assets._

But there is this other thing. It’s called yearning.  Deep and long and no good. So why not sink right into her, just once, just now, knowing he’ll be gone forever tomorrow.  
Figuratively speaking. Might take a few days to get transferred.  
_Fuck no, transfer is not enough. I’ll quit. I will. Only the last polygraph and I am gone. I am out. Get away from Carrie my own private siren. So this is a good-bye and what the fuck._

She didn’t plan it. She wanted a fight, she wanted to shout, she was so mad at him.  She started the kiss because she could, being so close. And so maddening far away at the same time. She hates his superior attitude, his detachment, his rejection of her whole emotional mess. So she just wants to drag him to her, submerge him in a way. It’s about who’s ruling who but not only that.  
So a kiss. Tempting him to give in. He takes a considerable length of time, just standing there, suffering her to explore his mouth with her tongue, pressing her body into him, letting go of her hand.  
Then, as if there was a switch, he is all in. Pulls her in, kissing her, his hands over her body, her back, her arms, her breasts. She moans.  
  
So they are going to get laid. It makes sense for her. Anything to get away from thinking, re-living what happened today. What she did. Sex always helps her escape herself. For moments at least. Better than booze and less morning-after-headache.  
It makes sense for him because he fucking wanted her for a long long time.

So they sink down to the floor, greedy kisses, his hands now holding her face, her hands slipping under his shirt, feeling his warmth, his solid smooth skin, his toned body. He shivers when she touches his belly, aiming at going further, and a smile curves her lips. He notices, stops the kissing, withdraws his face so he can look into her eyes.

“What?”

“You ticklish?” she asks delighted.

“Fuck you, Carrie”, he mumbles.  
“Sure, go ahead”, she says with a smile.  
Fuck, she had Saul killed today and smiles him into bed. _Fuck, we are two of a kind._

From here on, they don’t play too much. They take this seriously. So there is a lot of moaning and sweating and touching and cursing and come ons and deeper and more and yeah and don’t stop and God and you want this and Quinns and Carries and noises, a lot of noises. Moans and sighs and whispers and cries.  
Carrie, God, she comes so loud and frantic and it’s his utmost trigger. He wonders if just hearing her come might set him off. Too bad he’ll never find out.

***

They lay next to each other, they’ve made it to the bed by now, naked, sweaty, exhausted, brimming over with satisfaction, on their backs, eyes to the ceiling. Not touching. He’s got scratches, she’s got bruises. They both have hickeys. She did for passion, he did because he savors the thought she’ll have to wear a scarf or a collar to cover it up when he’s long gone…

“Fuck, Quinn, that was great. Who would have thought...” She giggles and leisurely puts a hand on his belly, slowly circling his belly-button.  
He leans over and kisses her left breast, touches the nipple with his tongue ever so lightly. Starts nibbling, goes up to her neck.  
“You’re in for another round? Again?” she asks, only half joking.  
He throws her a glance, his hand going for her inner thigh.  
“What are we now, Quinn?” she asks. “Fuckbuddies?” - his hand pauses for the shortest of moments - “or friends with benefits?”  
"Sex with dependents?" he offers which makes her smile: "So who's the dependent, Quinn?" - "Who's the station chief again?"  
At which she giggles. "Dependent... you of all people. Jesus, Quinn, next time you tell me you're a frightened virgin. Didn't look at me like that. No, we go for the friends with benefits-label."  
She said next time. The mastress of manipulation, right.  
_’'lI'l fuck you senseless tonight Carrie Mathison and I’ll be gone tomorrow. Figuratively speaking. I don’t want to be your friend cos I can’t let you take me down with you.  
_ He just smiles that cheeky little smile before he goes down on her to get her make _these noises_ again.

***

Too bad they are in his quarters so he can’t lit out before dawn. So it is a shower and brushing his teeth and serving coffee in bed before heading off. She looks all sleepy and very young and relaxed and it gives him a heartburn to see her so unperturbed. _She is a monster, we all are._

He sits down next to her on the mattress, puts a mug for her on the bedside table and watches her while he sips his coffee. One eye opens. “Jesus Quinn, that’s creepy. Stop staring at me!” He smiles and runs his hand through her hair. Fuck, he feels so in love! He bends over and blows a kiss on her neck. A shiver runs through her body.

“You ticklish?”

She smiles, eyes closed. “Come back in and find out.”

“Gotta run. Made you a coffee, it’s right here on the table. Take your time. Males only stuff in the bathroom but if you fancy it suit yourself…”

She stretches out her arms, inviting him to embrace and all of a sudden he has to fight back the tears. He may not be lured into her embrace. He may not be lured back into her world. So he does not come any closer, he only takes her hands, kisses the palms and gets up.

“See you later, Carrie. Take your time.”

He shuts the door. What did he do that for. He has no appointment, nothing important to tend to. All he will do is sit in front of his pc, staring out of the windows and trying to recall how she smelled and how she sighed and how it made him feel.

***

As soon as he is out of the door, Carrie jumps up, gets dressed and rushes back to her quarters where she’d left her cell-phone. How was she to know her lecturing him would expire in the morning?  
She checks her voice-mail.  
A call from her sister, disappointed, reproachful cos Carrie missed the skype-arrangement with her and Franny. Again.  
A call from Mira imploring her to tell her it is not true, Saul is not dead, not now, after he left the agency for good.

Carrie takes a downer before taking a shower. The water washes away all that was left of this night: Quinn’s sweat and Quinn’s saliva and Quinn’s cum. The lovenight-afterglow goes down the drain.

Fuck, she’s got a hickey! - When was the last time she wore that black turtleneck…?

***

During the day he avoids meeting her. Half hopes, half fears she might be knocking at his door tonight. She isn’t.  
He’s got himself a box for his personal stuff and starts packing.

During the day she avoids meeting him. Half hopes, half fears he might be knocking at her door tonight. He isn’t.  
Good. She doubts she could handle him right now, after a bottle of Chardonnay and a small variety of psychotropics.

They are booked on the same flight back to Langley though, seated next to each other. So no run and hide for the next eleven hours and no rush to tick off topics from a conversation list.

“You’re good?”

“Yeah. You too?

“Sure.”

Silence.  
_Should we talk about the weather?_

Carrie turns her head and takes him in. Remembers the other night which gives her a funny burning feeling inside.

“Actually I am not so good. Mira called. Asked me to speak a few words at the ceremony.”

He breaths in. “Holy fuck! - What did you say?”

“What could I say? I couldn’t decline, could I?”

He gives her one of his unreadable intense stares: “You serious? You wanna give a speech -“

“I don’t want to - but I have to. Have to try. I don’t know. I don’t know what to say.”

There is acid sarcasm in his voice: “Something appropriate and heartfelt I guess.” Fuck him. Can’t he tell she is all desperate and frightened?

“You are a real diplomat, Quinn.”

He remembers where he heard that line before. Makes him gulp.

 “About the transfer. It’s revoked because…” he starts but the stewardess interrupts: “Would you like a drink mam?”

“What are you having?” she asks Quinn as if it was important. They settle on GT.

 

Two hours into the flight,  she remembers. “What did you want to say about the transfer?” “It’s revoked. I quit.”

“You what?”

“Jesus Carrie, you know I want out.”

“What for?”

_To save myself._

“Just.”

“How old are you, Quinn? Just… “

“Fuck you Carrie, I told you. You know why.” He doesn’t even seem angry. Tired or sad. Not angry.

“Cos you are an addict?”

He gives her a moody look. “Yeah and now you ask yourself why did you go to bed with that sucker and he still wants to get away…. what a waste of resources.”

He sure is one of the meanest people in the world.

“You know why I fucked you Quinn? Because I wanted to. Believe it or not.”

She sounds hurt. He can’t take back what he said. It’s what he still believes… she tried to manipulate him.  Recalling this night makes him melt inside, so he won’t take it against her. He fucking loves her, that’s the problem.

“You know why I wanted to fuck you, Quinn? I wanted to see you. It’s fucking hard to make you give anything away.The real you, a glimpse at least. Not the cocksure sucker who tries to boss me around. Not the I-am-so-cool-you-will-never-know-what-I-feel-badass. Just the real you. No hiding, no distance, all in and vulnerable. That’s what sex is about, when it’s good and raw, you know?”

He avoids her gaze. “So - you saw him?”

“I think I did”, and she looks at him cos she can’t believe he still plays it so cool. Fuck, she has seen him! Tender and passionate and desperate and now it’s all gone behind that fucking wall.

_I should give up on him. Too bad there aren’t a lot of people left who know what I did and still like me.  
Would Maggie still love me if she knew? And Dad? Will I ever tell Frannie?-_

Quinn has turned his head and looks out of the window. There is nothing to see but blackness. She grabs her earplugs and turns on her ipod. Closes her eyes to blink away the tears.

Still seven hours to Langley.

Two hours later they are both asleep. Carrie leans in on Quinn. The stewardess smiles in passing: What a lovely couple.

***

At the airport they are picked up by a car. They are booked into the same hotel, c/o the agency, much to Quinn’s surprise. “You are not staying at your sister’s? See Franny?”

“Stop this fucking guilt-tripping, will you?”

“I just asked a question, Carrie. OK - two questions.”

“No I did not check in at my sister’s. Debriefing’s too early. As you well know…”

“No I don’t. Not for me. I am in for the polygraph.”

So he won’t come along. Fine. She has to get used to it anyway. “Don’t worry, you’ll do great.”

“No doubt. Lying, betraying, deceiving… ”

Carrie sighs. She would die for a nightcap and a slow and tender fuck and all he offers are scowls and self-accusations.

 ***

She knocks in the middle of the night. She has tried some chemically induced sleep and it worked. No dreams, no nightmares. For three hours. Then she woke up, startled, in tears. Remembering Saul. He is gone. She has taken him out.

After she has calmed down she remembers Quinn. Quinn and his fucking interfering. And how he now runs off. She gets really angry at him. Again. And she wants to let him know.

He opens, his hair a mess, eyes all sleepy. “What the -“

“Fuck, Quinn, what did you do that for? Two minutes, it took you two fucking minutes to send the text…”

He is confused. “What are you talking about?”

“The text. The transfer. You had it all planned and were just waiting for the occasion. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to fuck off?”

“Jesus, Carrie, now? It’s 3:03 am.”

“You were waiting for an excuse, right?”

“I had a draft… always have… since 2008… doesn’t matter now… go back to sleep, will you.”

She goes at him, again, this time raising her fists as if to hit him. He does it again: grabs her hands and holds her tight. “Can’t leave if you’re holding me like this, can I”, and she puts her head against his chest.

He lets go of her hands and asks softly: “Why don’t you say you wanna get laid?” His sleepiness combined with his cocksure attitude does the trick: She rises on her toes and wraps the arms around him, whispering: “Can I have a slow tender fuck please?”

***

Saul’s ceremony.

Mira is devastated. She tries to get a grip on herself but breaks out in tears every other minute. A friend has to support her. Carrie walks up and embraces her and expects the heavens to open and a lightening to take her out on the spot. “I am so sorry for your loss” she mumbles and tries not to listen to Mira’s “Thank you” and “Oh God how could it happen.”

Dar sits in one of the front rows, visibly shaken. Quinn gives him an awkward glance and chooses a seat where he’s not in Dar’s line of sight. Carrie joins him with an awkward smile.

 

A band plays Klezmer music.

Lockhart speaks for full 20 minutes. Carrie doesn’t pay attention, her mind is numb. She has prepared a short speech, polished it, knows it by heart but she’s not sure she will be able to utter a single word. Maybe somebody will get up and accuse her. Or Mira will know, all of a sudden psychic.-  Her hand dives in the pocket of her jacket and touches reassuringly an edgy, sharp surface: A stone from the Himalaya where Carrie went tracking. She brought it here to put it on Saul’s grave site after everyone has left. Her last good-bye to her mentor. To her victim. She starts crying.  
Quinn, eyes straight ahead, hands her a handkerchief.  
 

Now Etai, a friend of Saul’s, tells an anecdote about a seder evening they spent together and manages to put a smile even on Mira’s face. What a charming man. “Mossad”, Quinn whispers in Carrie’s ear.

Then it is time for Carrie to get up and deliver her speech. She doesn’t get  far, tears choking her voice so she gives up and falters, sobbing at Quinn’s chest.

Dar Adal gives her, no them very dark looks.

***

“I felt shitty. This must have been the most horrible situation I ever faced” she goes, sitting crosslegged next to Quinn on a couch in his hotelroom.  
He doubts it - after all, there was the crane in Tehran… but no use to always speak your mind, right. “I felt like a traitor, you know…. I killed Saul and now I give sermons at his ceremony. This is so fucked-up. ..”

 “You have to let yourself of the hook for this. It’s done, you can’t change it. Stop the remorse it won’t take you anywhere.”

“Says the guy who never got over the dead kid in Caracas.”

She has a point.

“It was different. A dead kid is a dead kid. There is no “what if” and “you don’t know what it was good for” because there is no good in it. But you - you took out Haqqani. Maybe it was the last chance to get at him. Maybe you stopped him from causing terrible damage.”

“Yeah sure.”

“The end justifies the means, right? Thing is, we’ll never know what would have happened if the shot hadn’t been taken.”

She nods, deep in thought.

“Maybe he… I don’t know… maybe he planned an attack on the embassy… a massive one, dozens of casualties…. the end of our engagement in Pakistan.”

She rolls his eyes: “Never expected you to be a guy who lets his imagination run wild.”

“So you don’t appreciate my love making?”

She smiles, despite herself.  He smiles back.

_What on earth happened to my resolution to have one night together and one night only?_

How come they sit together and talk, like friends and it is so much easier ever since they started the benefits-thing, she wonders. Maybe because she is a touchy person and he doesn’t block her anymore so this chi (or whatever it is called), this energy can circulate?

“Carrie, maybe you saved -  somebody special’s life? A life Haqqani would have taken? Say - Fara? Maybe he would have killed her cos he couldn’t tolerate a Muslim woman on our side? Maybe he would have got hold of a list of all our assets and had them tortured and killed?”

“How would he have got THAT?”

“How am I to know? It’s just a hypothetical. Try to accept you made the right decision, ok?”

“A hypothetical? - OK, my turn.- Saul was his hostage. He would have tried to trade him in. Dearly. An exchange. Saul’s life against-?”

“some of his high ranking officers, certainly not in order to play chess at a tea party.”

“Still… I killed Saul. You wanted to stop me.”

 “Yeah I did. I didn’t want you to feel guilty afterwards. Guess now you have to live with it. We’ll never know what it was good for.”

“Bullshit.  And don’t try to tell me Saul would have gone - dark. Don’t tell me he might have become a double agent… handing out information to… to…”

“The Russians?”

She smiles. “Right, back to the good old Cold War bogeyman. Or would have started an affair with a double agent, how about that?”

“Yeah, I can just picture it. Some classy redhead with a knack for handbags…”

They chuckle.

Quinn pours them another wine.

“Your theory sucks, Quinn. He never would cheat on Mira. He loves her, you know. Loved her I mean.”

“Oh come off it, Carrie, you can’t predict the future. Maybe she would have filed for divorce and- you know, middle aged man, alone, easy target for honeytrapping… Nobody can tell. No use in regretting, we’ll never know where another road might have taken us.”

“All poetic today, Quinn?”

“You did good. You made the world a safer place, ok?”

She smiles, then all of a sudden lays down and puts her head in his lap.

“If they make me stay longer, we could share a flat.”

“Fuck me, Mathison, what is that? Are you suggesting cohabitation?”

She punches against his chest.

_God I have to stop hitting him he might sue me for domestic violence. Wonder why I do it all the time…_

“I am talking about a shared flat. Shared costs. And anyway, this is a hypothetical. You started them. So if I had to stay here - which I hope won’t happen - and as you are out, we could, you know… we’d have more space, and I didn’t have to be a guest at Maggie’s house anymore.”

Fuck, where did that come from.

“With Franny, like, to feint the landlord, like, mummy, daddy, cute little daughter?” - the thought  bites, and he adds a malicious “Would be convenient, I could look after Franny while you go out recruiting, right?”

She throws him a hurt glance. But she doesn’t break away. He doesn’t apologize, he simply puts a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

“I have to get out, Carrie, I really have to”, he says. “I am a fucking junkie. I have to get away from the triggers. Not only from the pushers and the substance.”

“Dar is your pusher, right? God, he looked daggers at me…”

“At us… Yeah, he is a bad one.”

He wants to tell her about his premonition. How this might be his last chance to get out, or he will go down a dark and gruesome road. She had hunches herself, maybe she’d understand. … how he is afraid of a current drawing him towards something dark and painful.

It takes him too long to figure out the right words: Her breath has gone all even and quiet, she’s asleep. Carefully, very carefully, he holds her head and untangles himself, takes a pillow and rests her on it, then lies next to her, eyeing her for a few minutes, moving closer, embracing her and drinking in her scent.

Maybe, just maybe - she is not a pusher but a surrogate? -But to make it in a methadone programme you need a reliable and steady supply. There is nothing reliable and steady about Carrie. Not if she goes back to Islamabad.

Doesn’t matter. Not tonight. Tonight he’ll just stay with her and consider they belong.

**Author's Note:**

> ah, the what if's... I am sorry to say, but looking back - Carrie should have fired that drone...
> 
> Liked the fic? Wanna discuss it or find out more about the writer?   
> -> http://homelandstuff.livejournal.com/11871.html#comments


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